


Still, It Hurts All The Same

by TheRoseDuelist



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Heavy Angst, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoseDuelist/pseuds/TheRoseDuelist
Summary: It's the two year anniversary of the defeat of Thanos. Which means, it's been two years since Steve Rogers disappeared.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Still, It Hurts All The Same

Nothing will console you today. You know it as soon as you open your eyes to the pale morning light that filters through your cheap blinds. You know it when you reach out for your phone and send off an email that you’re ill and not coming into work. It doesn’t worry you — you give all of yourself to your job now, it’s truly all you have — and even if you had the capacity to worry, you still wouldn’t. Nobody will batt an eye. They all know why. Today is the anniversary of the defeat of Thanos. Two years since the Avengers had saved the universe.

Two years since Steve Rogers disappeared.

When you shut your eyes the night before, you knew what the day coming was. You did your best to prepare for it. Reminded yourself of the best methods of distraction, techniques to push through the unbearable sadness. But you can never truly prepare for the anguish that presses down on your chest upon taking your first breath after waking from a night of dreams about the one you miss. You know in the back of your mind the efforts are futile as the memories stream through your mind, his visage so clear that you could almost reach out and touch the individual golden strands on his head.

If he were there, that is.

Hours pass and you remain in bed, flipping through old photos and videos on your phone, torturing yourself. You go through old news reports. You watch old interviews with Captain America. His smile still makes your heart flip over in your chest. Somehow you’ve managed not to cry, but the ache is still there. The undeniable heartbreak has drilled a hole into you that will never be filled.

Your masochistic trip down memory lane is interrupted by a few text messages, quick in succession, causing your phone to buzz almost uncontrollably in your hands. You don’t look at them past the name of the sender. You know what they’re about. 

A half-hour later, you walk out of your bedroom, dressed in some semblance of an outfit, and look around. The apartment is small, but not cozy. Minimalistic but not comfortable. Most of your things are still in moving boxes. You can’t be bothered to unpack. Because you aren’t convinced you will stay. In the apartment. In your job. In New York. 

However, your heart isn’t ready to let go.

You trudge towards the refrigerator. You’re not hungry. You wish you are. Maybe the simple physical sensation will stifle the tidal wave of grief that now threatens to consume you. Your efforts to keep the tears at bay have been strong, but that strength is quickly depleting. 

Instead, you reach for the freezer and pull it open, grabbing a half-filled bottle of vodka. You need a little liquid courage for what’s to come.

Knocking back a shot, you wince at the burn in your throat and feel the explosion of warmth in your gut. Hopefully, it’ll dull the pain. Once you start crying, you don’t know if you’ll be able to stop. There’s a tiny smile that flicks onto your mouth and you put the vodka back into the refrigerator and grab your coat. You spent the entire day last year crying. Maybe it’ll only be half the day this year. That’s progress, right?

Still, it hurts all the same.

Buzz buzz.

A sigh escapes your lips and you pull your phone from your pocket. On-screen is the latest text from Bucky.

_Comin’?_

For the briefest moment, you wonder if you should. Why torture yourself? Why go there knowing he won’t come back? And even if he did, what would you say? He left you.

If you stay home, you’ll probably just drink yourself to sleep just to make the day end quicker. Put yourself into a state of oblivion, so the sun can rise faster. You want it to be tomorrow already. It’s so very tempting.

But you owe it to them to go. You have to support them. They are collateral damage in this whole thing with Steve. Even if they don’t know it.

Hastily, your fingers type over the screen.

Leaving home now.

Ten minutes later, a Prius pulls up to your curb and you slide in. You manage a polite greeting to the Uber driver, but you make no move to converse any more than necessary. You gaze out the window, watching the landscape streak by as the driver heads for your destination.

You don’t really see it. Your mind has transported a million miles elsewhere.

Immediately your mind goes to this exact day two years ago. But you push it away. What’s the point of revisiting that memory? The moment you realized Steve wasn’t coming back. The expressions of shock on Bucky, Sam, and Bruce’s faces. It was only supposed to be a few minutes. But then the minutes ticked by into a half-hour, then an hour, then two hours, then five, then the afternoon had turned to night and finally, it was gone. The day was gone. And the sun rose for a new day.

Tears pool at the bottom of your eyes and your vision blurs. You wipe away the tears, a few spilling over onto your cheeks, evading your attempt to keep your face clean of your sadness.

The familiar dagger twists in your heart and you close your eyes, summoning his image to the forefront of your mind. That brilliant, knee-weakening smile matched with those ice-blue eyes that stared straight into your soul. A face you will never forget, no matter how much you will it so. Because though it hurts, you can’t give it up just yet. 

The car rolls to a stop and you come back to your senses. You can see two figures standing side-by-side some twenty, thirty feet away. Gathering your courage, you exit the car and stride towards them. 

“Bucky. Sam. It’s nice to see you both.” You manage a smile, relieved that your sunglasses hide your red eyes.

“Hey, Y/N.” Sam pulls you into a hug. 

You squeeze him back, thankful for the comfort, but you say nothing more. You’ve reached the point where you don’t trust yourself to say anything that might lead to tears, lead to the breaking of the dam within you. If you cry, you’d prefer to do it alone, away from eyes that are filled with sympathy and pity. Because you don’t deserve it. This pain...what happened...at the end of the day, you dug this hole for yourself. And you will lie in it for the rest of your days.

You step back and are immediately pulled into another hug by Bucky. This one is surprising. Not that you and Bucky don’t have a strong friendship. But Bucky isn’t one for physical affection unless necessary.

Which means…

You can feel something in the pit of your stomach. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your muscles tense.

You step back. “What’s going on?”

Sam glances at Bucky, who proffers a letter.

“What is that?”

The question is unnecessary: you already know. You know by the way Bucky avoids your eyes and the tremble in his human hand.

“It came today. Bucky and I got one each too.” Sam murmurs, clasping his hands in front of him.

“I...I…” You stare dumbly at it.

Do you want to take it? Yes. yes, you do. You want to know what it says. You want these last words, words he denied you by never returning. It will only mean more pain. More crying yourself to sleep. More pretending you’re fine to your fellow SHIELD agents and the other Avengers.

However, it’s not the pain that makes you hesitate, it’s the content. You have an idea of what it might say. The unknown keeps you in this state of suspension. Limbo. Once you read the letter though...you’ll know where you stand with Steve. You won’t be able to put it away.

Besides, you are the one that had pushed him away, right? You are the one that gave him all the reasons to leave. Being alone, this is your punishment. 

The fact that he didn’t come back, that should be answer enough. And yet, it isn’t. Is he happy? Does he think of you? Does he believe everything that you said? Does he think the two of you were a mistake? Thousands of questions and none with answers. Dangerous answers that could break you into pieces.

You need to know. You need to hear his voice in your head once more, even if it’s a fabrication of your memory. You need to feel the paper that his hands have touched and the imprint of his pen to the page. You need this last connection to him.

Swallowing, you take it from Bucky. You turn it over in your hands. That’s his handwriting, no doubt about it. And it’s addressed to you at the Avengers compound. He most likely believes you still live with the team. He has no idea that you cannot stand to be in the place where the memories of your life together linger. You made it two weeks before you moved into a guest room and then another three months before you moved out into your current cramped apartment.

In anticipation, you bite your lip and open the letter. Your eyes scan over the page, and you try and imagine him writing it, but you can’t. All you can do is barely process the words as they travel through your eyes and burrow into the creases in your brain.

_Dear Y/N,_

_I hope you’re well. I know you don’t expect to hear from me. I didn’t even think I’d be writing this letter. You know I’m not one to waste words._

_I can’t stop thinking about you. About what you said. I don’t know if you said those things to me because you really felt them, or thought it’s what I wanted to hear._

_Frankly, I don’t know what I want, doll. Being here, it’s home, but it’s not. Not anymore. Not after everything that happened when they pulled me from the ice. Not after fighting with the team and defeating Thanos. Not after meeting you._

_The one thing I do know is that I still love you. I just know that I have to tell you that. Even if I never get to say it to you again._

_Yours,_

_Steve_

By the time you finish the letter, tears stream down your face. 

“Hey…” Sam says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Did he say if he’s...coming back?” You manage, forcing your throat to stay open.

Bucky frowns and shakes his head. “We were hoping you’d get that answer.”

“I don’t know. I...don’t know.” You hug your sides. “This is all my fault…”

“Don’t say that.”

“You don’t understand.” You hiccup and step away from Sam, your stomach folding in on itself. You squeeze your eyes shut and hug your sides, feeling the secret press against your tonsils, urging you to gag on your own shame.

This letter, he still loved you. But he was back there. He was back there but he didn’t know what he wanted. You did that. You confused him. If you hadn’t just pushed away all of your insecurities, the two of you could’ve been happy, right?

But he was still there. With her.

“Y/N, what’s going on?”

You cover your hands with your face and squish the sob curling in your chest down. What is the point of keeping it a secret any longer? They deserve the truth. 

“I told him to go after what he wanted. To go be happy.”

“What does that mean?”

“What it always meant. Peggy.” You drop your hands and look from Sam to Bucky, your voice raw with emotion. 

Their faces morph from distress to confusion. You bite your cheek so hard you taste blood to steel yourself for their deserved rage.

“Wait a second. Wait a damn second.” Sam narrows his eyes. “You told the Captain to go be happy? Is that why you guys fought? Because you told him to go be with Peggy?”

“Something like that…”

“Did he tell you that’s what he wanted?!”

“He didn’t say that wasn’t what he wanted.”

From the beginning of your relationship, you knew that he had always carried a torch for the one that had got away. The missed connection. There was always a part of Steve that you couldn’t access and it made you doubt if there were other parts of him that he withheld.

And that had infested within you, burrowed in your mind. Everything he wanted, Peggy could give him. Not you. And you just wanted him to be happy. He deserved that and so much more. So when this chance came…

“What did the letter say?”

“He’s confused.” 

“Perfect.” Bucky snorts. “We know how well confused Steve does with making decisions.”

“So is he happy there?” Sam asks.

“He doesn’t know.” Your eyes flick down to the letter still in your hands.

Bucky swears and you flinch. “I’m not waiting around.” He stomps towards his motorcycle.

“We’ll talk later,” Sam follows Bucky without a backward glance to you.

The curt dismissal stings and you drop onto the stone bench, watching the Falcon and Winter Soldier take off into the dying sunlight. You deserve their ire, their rage. You would deserve it if they never wanted to speak to you again. You took away their best friend. 

Still, it hurts all the same.

You glance down at the letter in your hand. Steve hadn’t told them what happened between the two of you. And you know he tells them almost everything. For him to keep his cards close to his chest, it can only mean he is truly struggling.

Had you made it better? Worse? Did it matter at all?

A rational thought breaks through your emotional haze. Perhaps the way you went about it was wrong, but letting him go, that was right. He needed to go back to Peggy. Because if he never had, he would always wonder.

Of course, it made you jealous during your relationship, but you never said anything of the sort. It wasn’t as though Steve paraded it in front of you. The man was a gentleman. But every so often, you caught him staring into space, and you knew he was wondering about Peggy.

It hurt. Every single time a punch to your gut.

It is why you’d never said “I love you” to him. Not because you didn’t. You did. You do. You knew you were in love the first time Steve had kissed you into your two year romance. But how could you give yourself to someone who was only himself half there?

That doesn’t mean you don’t hope against hope that he will return. That he will realize it was all a mistake and come home to you.

You read the letter again and again. And again as the sun descends in the sky and falls beyond the horizon. In the twilight, you look to where the abandoned platform sits amidst the fallen orange and brown leaves. You stare, willing him into existence. 

Only the breeze greets your unspoken prayers.

An uber ride later, you are back in your apartment, changed into sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, and opening a bottle of wine. Our eyes are hot and red, but the crying hast stopped briefly. You pop the cork just as there is a knock on the door.

Your heart stops. It couldn’t be...could it?

The knocking happens again. Tears brim in your eyes. What if...? He said he didn’t know what he wanted.

You rush to the door and pull it open. A beautiful red-head takes you in. It’s not Steve. It’s Wanda. 

She too is disheveled in her own way: messy hair, tired eyes, pale skin. After all, the love of her life died in the fight against Thanos. She still bears those scars.

“What’s wrong? Besides the obvious?” She asks.

“I thought...you were him.”

“Oh, Y/N, I’m sorry.” She pulls you into a hug. You accept, clutching her to you. The two of you have grown closer over the past two years due to your bond of grief. It may not be the ideal way to grow a friendship, but you’ve found a sister in her; a silver lining out of this whole trial.

“What are you doing here?” You ask as you pull away and bring her inside.

“Sam told me you got a letter.” She confesses and puts a shopping bag on the counter, and begins removing bottles of wine.

“You don’t have to do this. I know you want your space today too.” You move back to the counter and finish opening the bottle.

“I thought I did today. I thought it wouldn’t be so bad. But I woke up and it was.” She takes the bag off the counter and pulls off her shoes. “I can’t be alone with these memories, Y/N. And from what Sam said, I don’t think you should be alone either.”

It surprises you that Sam phoned her. Maybe he isn’t as mad as you thought it was. There is some comfort in that.

You retrieve two wine glasses and gesture to the tribute she’s brought. “I’m glad you came prepared.”

“When have I not?” Wanda winks and you giggle as you pour two large glasses and slide one over to her. “Cheers to not crying alone.”

You touch glasses and take a gulp of the red wine that deliciously slides down your throat. You haven’t eaten yet today, so you know that it’ll hit you quicker. Good. Anything to numb the pain.

But you don’t want to get sick so you take out a frozen pizza from the freezer.

“What did it say?”

“It’s there if you want to read it.” You gesture to the half crumpled letter discarded on the couch where you’d tossed it after re-reading it twice upon returning home.

Wanda wanders over and takes a seat and reads. You focus on the pizza, you don’t want to see the emotions playing out over her face. Pity. Sympathy. Sadness. Irritation. 

“You’ll explain?”

Even Wanda doesn’t know that you had broken up with Steve.

You nod, mutely. After preheating the oven, you grab the bottle and join her on the couch.

“What things is he talking about?” Wanda probes, laying the letter down on the worn coffee table.

After a gulp, you put the glass down on the coffee table. Grabbing your quilt, you lay it over the two of you, avoiding her eyes. “I told him to go be with Peggy. I told him that this was his chance. He could return all the stones and then go live the life he never got a chance to. The one that he always wanted.” Your aggressive voice echoes in your ears as you remember the shock on Steve’s face as you said those things to him. 

You pause, closing your eyes, knowing the next words will start the tears again. “I told him that we probably wouldn’t have gotten together if The Snap hadn’t happened. We were just two sad people in need of someone else.”

Tears seep out of the corners of your eyes and still, you will yourself to continue. “But that’s not true. I loved him for a long time. I just wanted him to be happy. I want him to be happy. I never told him I loved him and now I never will get to.”

You sob, a strangled cry that erupts from your chest and Wanda pulls you into a hug. “I’m so stupid. I am such an idiot. I miss him so much and I did this.” You gasp and your body spasms. But the Avenger doesn’t let go. She keeps you close, letting you get out the grief that you’d kept prisoner these two years. She doesn’t say anything, just rocks you as your teras drop onto her sweater.

Eventually, the cries subside and you pull away. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m a mess.” You apologize, grabbing for the tissues to wipe your burning eyes. 

“Don’t apologize. You’re allowed to feel what you feel.” She squeezes your shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“I was ashamed. I didn’t want everyone to be mad at me. I told him to go.” You grab your wine and drink.

“You may have told him that, but he didn’t have to go. He made that choice.” Wanda reasons, grabbing her own glass. She doesn’t drink, swirling the liquid, eyes following its movement though also unfocused, reminded of her own troubles you assume. 

“I hear that, but it doesn’t feel like that…”

“I know.” This time she sips then looks at you, eyes both soft yet appraising. “It sounded as though Bucky was not doing well.”

“I think he hates me.”

“Bucky is smart. He’ll realize it’s not your fault eventually. Steve made his own choice.” 

“You think so?”

“I do. And I think that Bucky is probably angry that Steve chose Peggy over all of us, not just you.”

You nod, silent, and sip your wine. You hadn’t thought of that.

“And on that note, it’s time to put all of that aside. Because you can’t change that any more than I can change destroying the mind stone.” Wanda gives you a sad smile. You reach out and take her hand because you aren’t the only one grieving.

“You’re the best, you know that, right?”

“We are survivors. That is all. It’s nothing special.”

“Downplay it all you want. I’m really thankful for you.”

“I’m thankful. For you too.”

Then you follow her advice and put it aside. You pick out the most terrible movie you can find, stuff your faces with pizza and wine and poke fun at the ridiculous plot unfolding on your TV screen. For a few hours, you forget it all. You escape the grief. Because of the kindness of your friend.

Wanda falls asleep on the couch as you clean up. You nudge her to come to the bed, and she responds in the affirmative but doesn’t move. 

You glance towards your dark bedroom, where the demons lie in wait. You pour another glass of wine for yourself. You don’t really need it, but the pizza and the copious amounts of chocolate you ate are dulling the buzz. Which can only mean the sorrow is right around the corner, ready to pull you back into darkness. 

Unceremoniously, you drain half the glass. It’ll be a killer hangover in the morning, but if it puts you out like a light, and keeps away the dreams of Steve, you’ll take it. Squaring your shoulders, you walk into the bedroom. You fall into bed, curling up on your side and shutting your eyes, determined.

Steve immediately appears. His face etched in pain and confusion as you vehemently tell him things are over and he should go be with the woman he always wanted. The one he has never been able to forget. 

God, if only you could go back and do it all over. You would take his hands, and you would tell him to come home to you. You would say that you love him, that you’ve loved him for so long but you were afraid and you’re not afraid anymore. You’re all in. You’re all in forever even if it hurts you. Because he’s the only one for you. 

You just want to feel his arms around you, his lips on yours, his comforting, calming words soothing your ears, his body pressed against you, his warmth seeping into your own. You need him. It rips through you and you toss and turn, gripping your sheets hard enough to tear them. You sob, a lone choked cry as tears burst forth from you. All you want is one more second, one more chance to make everything right.

A poke in your shoulder is what wakes you the next morning. Wanda stands over you, definitely hungover. “I’m showering and borrowing clothes. Tea is on.”

“You’re an angel.” You murmur as she slinks towards the bathroom.

With a groan, you roll out of bed and immediately regret the quick motion, your head pounding. You deserve it after everything you drank. But in a way, you’re quite fine with that being your penance. It got you through the night. And now life can go back to normal. Or as normal as it can be. That day is behind you.

After tea and a shower, you and Wanda have managed to get yourselves ready. 

“Let’s do this.” You hold up your hand and Wanda high-fives it. You both look ridiculous with your oversized sunglasses and harem pants and over the shoulder sweaters. But you’re in it together so that’s what matters.

You call an uber and joke about it all the way to the compound. When you arrive, you head straight to the conference room. You got a text on the way in that there’s a group meeting. Wanda guesses it’s the new bit of intelligence they’ve been waiting on about HYDRA.

As the elevator rockets upward, you feel your stomach turn. You have to see Bucky and Sam. What will they say to you? Will they look at you in disgust? Did they tell everyone else? You deserve it, keeping the truth a secret for so long. Right?

As you step out of the elevator, you hear laughter and cheering. You and Wanda exchange a look. What’s going on?

Opening the doors, you see the Avengers crowded around in the back corner of the room. One member in particular stands out.

Your heart skids to a stop.

“Breathe,” Wanda whispers, gently laying a hand on your arm.

You obey, filling your lungs with oxygen. But they stop working again when the object of your attention turns around.

Steve. Steve Rogers. Here.

Steve Rogers is here.

Those ice-blue eyes stare straight into yours, uncertainty painted in their depths. Everyone quiets, noticing the unspoken exchange happening between the two of you. But it doesn’t matter to you.

You propel yourself forward until you’re right in front of Steve. 

“You came back.”

“I did.”

Voice trembling, you take his hands in yours. “I am...so sorry, Steve. The things I said...I don’t deserve you.”

“Y/N—”

“Wait, let me just say this. I can’t keep it from you any longer.” He nods, eyes locked on yours. Adrenaline pumps in your veins and you can feel your throat constrict as you let the words come, the ones you went to bed wishing you could say. 

“I felt the only way I could help you be happy was by letting you go. But I didn’t tell you the truth. I love you, Steve. I’ve loved you since the first time you kissed me and I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want to get hurt. But it hurt more to not share with you the truth than keep it hidden. I know that you coming back doesn’t mean we’ll be together. But I need you to know how I feel anyway. And I am so sorry for what I said. For how I hurt you. I should have never said those things or lied to you. I was afraid and it was wrong. And I’m just...sorry.” It was everything you wanted to say. Not the most elegant or eloquent way to share it, the hangover was making it hard to be that way, but it was your truth. 

You swallow and your heart pounds in your head. You can barely breathe as you wait for Steve’s reaction.

Surprise sketches over his perfect features. “You love me?”

You nod.

He breaks out into a grin that seizes your heart. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that.” He brings his hand up to brush it across your cheek. “I missed you so much, Y/N. And I need to apologize.”

“For what?” You sputter.

“The only reason any of this happened was because I held onto Peggy. I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t fair to you.” His tone is soft, soft enough to make you weak in the knees.

“Steve, it’s okay. I understood.” You respond, and your voice cracks. Tears dot the edges of your eyes.

“But it wasn’t. Because you were afraid to tell me how you really felt.”

You bite your lip. He’s not wrong. But you don’t want him blaming himself.

“Can we start over? This time just you and me.” He asks, the hope in his voice almost painful. “Will you give us a second chance?”

“Yes.” You don’t need to be asked twice.

He pulls you close. You tilt your face up, your heart bouncing against your ribcage. He closes his eyes and moves to brush his lips over yours.

And you wake up.

Your eyes process the scene: the same early morning pale light filtering through your cheap blinds. A half-empty glass of wine on the nightstand. 

A sigh.

Your body tenses. You rollover. Wanda curls in the blankets, her brows knit in some concern. A dream of some kind playing out her deepest wishes.

Just like yours. You dreamt Steve had come back. 

Except Steve isn’t back. You had fooled yourself for a wonderful minute. You had tricked yourself into believing joy was possible, that happiness was achievable.

But it’s not. He’s gone. You’re in love with him and he will never know. And that fact, that reality will never change. It’s the same as yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.

Still, it hurts all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a writing challenge on Tumblr. Also inspired by Cascada's "Like The Way I Do".


End file.
